As crimson tide I cannot control,
As river flowing unbidden from within me.
Pain so sharp it steals my breath,
A silent scream echoing in my bones.
No pill can truly silence the ache,
No remedy can make it disappear.
And they say labor is ten times worse.
I do not choose fear, yet I am afraid.
I love being a woman, but this—
This is something I may never embrace.
Each month, a mystery unfolds,
What will it bring this time?
A whisper of pain or a raging storm?
A dull ache or a merciless flood?
You turn away at the sight of it,
Yet I must bear witness as it pours.
Sometimes a river, rushing and wild,
Sometimes a slow, torturous drip,
Leaving behind an ache that lingers.
I grow older, yet the struggle stays.
Its sight, its touch—still unfamiliar.
A cycle meant to bring life,
Yet it drains me, tests me,
Demands my strength but offers no mercy.
I crave comfort, warmth, tenderness,
A moment to rest, to be held,
Yet here I lay, alone in my bed,
Waiting for the storm to pass
Menstruation is a cycle I have lived with for years, yet it remains something I have never fully adjusted to. Every month, I brace myself, uncertain of what awaits me. Will it be manageable, or will it be another unbearable storm? The sight of blood, the relentless cramps, the exhaustion—it never truly becomes familiar. Each cycle feels like a fresh battle, a new wave of discomfort and pain.
During this time, I crave comfort, warmth, and care. Yet, instead of tenderness, I am met with the harsh realities of life. There is no pause button. No time to rest. I must rise from my bed, push through the pain, and carry on as if nothing is wrong. I shower, get dressed, and step out into a world that does not stop for my suffering. I navigate the morning traffic, endure the scorching sun, and face the impatience of strangers, all while my body wages a silent war against me.
At work, there is no room for weakness. My boss, indifferent to my discomfort, expects the same level of productivity. Deadlines remain rigid, responsibilities do not ease, and I am forced to perform at my best despite the dull, throbbing pain that refuses to fade. Medication provides temporary relief, but it is never enough. The pain returns, lingering like an uninvited guest, waiting for the next dose to wear off.
And so, month after month, year after year, the cycle repeats. Five years, eight years, ten, twenty—each experience slightly different, yet always the same. No matter how long I have endured it, menstruation remains an unpredictable storm, one that I must weather in silence.
No one truly understands. No one stops to ask if I am okay. The world moves forward, indifferent to this struggle. But despite it all, I endure. I push forward, not because it is easy, but because I must. Because no one else will carry this burden for me.
Womanhood is a test of strength, resilience, and silent endurance. And so, I remind myself—no matter how painful, I must be strong. I must take care of myself, because in the end, I am my own refuge.
Bravo! 👏
“And they say labor is ten times worse.
I do not choose fear, yet I am afraid.”
This thought never leaves my mind.
“I grow older, yet the struggle stays.
Its sight, its touch—still unfamiliar.”
These are my favourite lines.
Well done sis 👏🏻❤️
A very nice work